reverse psychology
by oolong.tea.fanatic
Summary: Subtle flirting, french-english rivalry and a cup of tea leads to Arthur Kirkland inviting Francis Bonnefoy to live in his house. He regrets it. Definitely, because those smiles aren't directed at Francis, obviously. (( FrUk Human AU ))
1. Chapter 1

They say that time almost stops when you first see your soulmate. Arthur Kirkland thinks that's nonsense. The third child of a well-renowned british lawyer, Arthur had been taught that "soulmates" were a thing of myth, and that acting on impulse, believing in lore was a fallacy. He'd been told to scorn, to shun his sister, Alice, for eloping with a woman, and hadn't questioned his parents- or rather, his father's thinking.

Because his father's teachings were law. Arthur believed that's how the world was. Believed until a homeless, drunk mess came barging into his life, and turned it upside down.

Arthur had graduated from Cambridge a few years before with an major in Journalism, and was enjoying his life as a freelance writer in the US. He had rented a small apartment in New York when he first met Francis, or the drunk mess.

Arthur's assignment was to write an article on how average citizens felt about a new law passed in the area, something to do with regulations on tattoos. The bushy-browed brit had a meeting with a well known tattooist, a dutchman named Abel, at a modern-looking cafe nearby. Arthur arrived on time, and had an ordinary interview with the tattooist. He didn't feel particularly motivated to write, and decided to walk the longer route home.

Which was when he heard the wailing. It wasn't beautiful, no, it was human. Arthur was never a charitable man, and he could've cared less about the crying, yet he started to walk toward the source.

It was coming from a dumpster. Or more specifically, from a man standing in front of a dumpster. He couldn't be any older than thirty, and was wearing a tuxedo and dress pants, hinting his wealth, yet, the state that he was in implied that he was homeless. When the teary-eyed soul finally noticed Arthur, his eyes widened in surprise. The man hastily tried to make himself presentable to no avail.

"Please don't mind me." The man hoarsely croaked out as he urged Arthur to walk on.

"Easier said than done; you're practically audible to the whole neighborhood."

"You're accent. British." The tuxedo-man practically spat out.

"Indeed. Does that change anything?" Arthur smirked, because the way the tuxedo said it was eerily satisfying.

"Well, it proves why you're being such an connard de première."

"Ah, you're French." Arthur muttered in an equally venomous tone.

Which made tuxedo glare at Arthur. Arthur glared back almost instantly.

They then walked around each other, glaring, like feral dogs fighting over a piece of meat- except there was no meat.

Soon, realizing the idiocy of it all, the duo started to laugh.

Tuxedo lifted a hand into the air.

"I'm Francis. Francis Bonnefoy."

"I'm Arthur. Arthur Kirkland."

Tears were streaming down both of their faces as the laughter started to bubble up once more. They didn't even remember what was so funny, what they were initially laughing over, but it felt good.

"You want a cuppa tea?" Arthur wheezed once he could talk again.

Francis suddenly stopped laughing, face paling as he remembered the state he was in.

"I'm in an.. undesirable ...financial situation." Francis scratched behind his ear, eyes straying from the Brit.

There was an uncomfortable silence between the two men, until-

"Uh... I'll pay."

Francis's eyes light up and he smiled, radiant. Arthur blushed. What the heck, he asked himself.

Arthur looked away from Francis, to find the latter's smile imprinted in his mind.

"So you want to come or not?"

"Oui! Merci, mon cher."

"Please shut up with the French. And please, for the love of god, please don't call me dear." Arthur started to walk ahead.

"Alright, mon cher."


	2. Chapter 2

"So, let me get this right. You lost your passport, deliberately, so that you'll stay in the US, although you basically hate every aspect of the country… not that I can't relate to that… and now that you've been here for a while you want to go somewhere else?"

"I only hate the way most of the people act, the transportation, smog, and the lack of french spoken here! And there are reasons I can't go back to France."

The two were in line at a starbucks close to Arthur's apartment, having the first civil conversation they'd ever had. The conversation wasn't exactly the epitome of chivalry however, and there were people slowly inching away from them.

"And, in my defense, cher, you've lived in this country for three years, and you still believe that England, out of all countries, is a superior country." Francis waved at something invisible as if proving a point, and cocked his head. Arthur sighed and rubbed his temples.

"I know that English isn't your first language, but you should know that is not a defense." Arthur retorted, "Please keep in mind I am permitted to live in this country, while you aren't."

"I am very much permitted to live in this country. Except for the whole law thing."

"Well, that's a problem." Arthur muttered sarcastically.

"You're an illegal immigrant, Francis."

"Your attractiveness should be illegal."

"Flirting does not change the fact that you need to go back to France." Arthur stuttered. "Also, I'm very much a male."

This cheese eating surrender monkey is definitely not flirting with me, this is just a figment of my imagination. I do not want him to flirt with me, that is not what I was just thinking. Conversation over. Thought Arthur, as he imagined how disappointed his father would be to find his second-youngest son hoping to be in a relationship with a man.

"Amour does not have a gender, cher." Francis blew a kiss at Arthur. Arthur rolled his eyes at the frenchman, and tried to think of a good retort, but settled for a disgruntled expression.

Ah, shit. He is flirting. And I'm okay with it, surprisingly.

"So, where are you planning to stay today? Forecasts say it's going to rain from 8:00." Arthur changed the conversation topic deliberately, feeling the tips of his ears go red.

"It's still 3:00, I'm going to be fine." Francis replied, oblivious to Arthur's dilemma.

"No, you are not. Are you planning on building a house in five hours?"

"I might not be building a house but I can spend the night in a mcdonalds or a starbucks."

Arthur laughed cynically.

"And here I thought you french were a picky bunch."

"We can discuss eating habits of my people later. See? The waiter's waiting."

"You don't call part-time workers at Starbucks waiters, Francis."

Francis ignored Arthur's comment and ordered a got a latte mocha concoction that Arthur couldn't pronounce. Arthur ordered a black coffee.

Soon after the duo finished ordering, they went back to bickering like before.

"If you're so worried about where I'm going to stay, why don't you let me join you in your "oh so comfortable" apartment?"

"Why don't you join me then?"

Francis gasped. Arthur groaned. Spur of the moment, Arthur tried to say, but before he knew what was happening, Francis was hugging him.

"Thank you." Francis whispered tearfully, and Arthur didn't have the heart to say no.


	3. Chapter 3

Arthur opened his apartment door to reveal a simplistic living room. In the centre of the room was a mahogany table. Papers were piled on top of a chair that was equally mahogany as the table. A computer perched atop the papers, as a makeshift paperweight. On top of the computer was a scottish fold, glaring at the duo as if he was gifted with the task of protecting whatever data was in the computer. Arthur told Francis that the scottish fold, whose name was "Earl Grey", had been his only conversation partner for a while. Francis wondered if Arthur was emotionally unstable.

In the back of the room was a television, and in close proximity lay a bean-bag. The kitchen was practically abandoned save for a electric tea kettle, and some tea bags, lying around in no correlation to each other. There were two doors, one leading to the restroom, the other to the bedroom.

"Welcome to my humble abode." Arthur sarcastically said as he held the door open for Francis.

"Thank you, cher." Francis strode into the room. It smelled like something was burning. Francis recoiled in disgust.

"Your whole apartment smells like you've burnt something alive and left it in the oven." Francis cringed. Arthur shrugged and shut the apartment door in a sickening bang, and walked over to the kitchen oven.

"Dinner smells ready." Arthur murmured to himself, sticking his hand into the oven. Francis felt sickened. He felt like his rights as a human being was being violated as Arthur hissed at the contact between his hand and the metal.

"Cher, can I take over kitchen duties from now on?" Francis asked as he walked over to the refrigerator, pushing Arthur out of his way. He surveyed the items in the fridge, and after pondering for a moment, took a carton of eggs out. Francis took four eggs, and cracked them to start making an omelette. He had already started to add milk to the beaten eggs when Arthur replied.

"No?" Arthur said, pointing at the burnt whatever-the-hell-that-was that he had retrieved from the oven. "Look at this culinary delight that I have masterfully created."

Francis decided to ignore the comment, and went back to the eggs, adding a pinch of salt. He then created a filling made of ham, cheese and tomatoes, and quickly fried the eggs before pouring the filling into the eggs.

"Eat this, cher." Francis commanded. Arthur made a face at Francis, but did as he was told. The omelette was like heaven in a dish. Arthur cried a little while eating- no, devouring- the dish. Yet, when asked how it was, Arthur replied,

"Decent. I'm only letting you cook from now on because you'd be no use to me if you don't, alright?"

"Even if I did not cook, I'd still be a beautiful addition to your house. A living statue."

Francis laughed as Arthur rolled his eyes.

Francis made a salad in addition to the omelette for dinner. Arthur cried a bit again. He'd met Francis a few hours ago in front of a dumpster, and now, the man was cooking him a meal fit for a king. Sometimes, life was too good to be true. Or so he thought, before Francis asked to use his shower. Of course, Arthur had urged him to go; Francis had explained that he hadn't had a bath for about a month. But after a hour and a half, Arthur started to get concerned. About the water bills, and perhaps a bit about Francis' wellbeing.

"Francis? Are you alright?" Arthur knocked at the shower-room door.

Out came a muffled response.

"No," The latter wailed.

"Shame. You seem to be alive." Arthur whispered to himself, to which Francis moaned-

"There's been a problem! My beautiful face! It's been massacred!" Francis seemed to be sobbing uncontrollably; which made it the third time Arthur had heard Francis cry. Which made it the third time Francis had cried that day, which was frankly disheartening.

Arthur rolled his eyes.

"What is it this time?"

"I used your razor to shave my goatee- which, by the way, I hope you do not mind- and accidently shaved it all off."

"I do mind about the razor." Arthur replied as he sat himself down in front of the shower-room door, predicting that he'd stay there for a while. "And, you can not look that bad." Hello, Kirkland, that was extremely romantic. Are you trying to woo the frog? Arthur internally asked himself, which didn't help stop his cheeks from turning an impressive shade of red.

"Ah, cher, you flatter me." Francis's smirk was almost visible to Arthur. "It can't be false if you say so."

Francis opened the door, knocking Arthur out of the way. Arthur started to glare at the frenchman, but his glare became a dazed stare as he looked at Francis.

It should've been impossible to be as attractive as Francis Bonnefoy. The beads of water that clung onto the man made it seem as if he was shining, and the vapor in the air had made his cheeks rosy red. He looked more youthful now that he was lacking in facial hair, although Arthur thought it made him look less sophisticated- not that the frog ever looked sophisticated, of course.

The next question Francis asked Arthur made the Brit almost want to die, to prevent getting a hard-on right at that moment.

"Cher, can I borrow some of your clothes?"

And soon after that,

"Can I sleep on the right side of your bed tonight?"

Arthur died inside as his manhood shamelessly jumped in joy. Life was too good to be true with Francis, but his pride would say otherwise.


End file.
